


The utility of wood

by mistress_of_shadows



Series: miles/scar shiptober challange [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Racism, but it doesn't go to far, insults used as compliments, talk shit get hit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 05:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20902538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistress_of_shadows/pseuds/mistress_of_shadows
Summary: Instead of going to the slums outside Briggs to hide, Miles thinks of a way from them all to hide in the fort while under the watchful eyes of central and Kimblee. Much like a game of hide and seek, where losing could mean death. Kimblee being the only one sure of Miles plan sticks close to the major. But waiting for a slip up is not the only reason Kimblee lingers. Thankfully Scar is also very observant and has good timing.





	1. Chapter 1

Having the general removed from the fort and central spies take her place was a rather inconvenient for trying to hide our new associates, but the enemy had underestimated the forts size and ability to function as a single unit. Hiding seven people within these metal walls was hardly impossible, and I could only thank the men under me for their quick thinking and utility.

With Kimblee's insistence to stick to my side like a vermin I had little opportunity to oversee the group of outsiders myself and had to depend mostly on my men, both to keep them out of sight and from causing any trouble. The last three days had been like a high stakes game of hide and seek, where the stakes were court marshaling and death. I was starting to think the Elric brothers were playing their own game, on how quickly they could give me an aneurism. I'd seen them pass by with the Rockbell girl no less than five times, all within feet of Kimblee and in clear view.

The crimson alchemist was certain that we were all playing him for a fool, and that the group was in the fort. In spite of him being right, it was easy enough to make him out as a man grasping at straws and looking to save face for his mistake. Because really, who would be so bold as to hide a murderer and his band of misfits under the nose of central spies, no one was that brazen. Except for every man in Briggs.

But having any of them seen would bring the plan to its knees, as it wouldn’t be hard to figure that if there was one they all were here. The Xingese girl seemed to be the best about keeping away from others, and the chimera’s had their own use in avoidance.

The one that worried me the most was Scar. The Ishvalan had promised that he would not hurt anyone, and so far he had kept that promise, but it was hard to reconcile the man that lurked these halls with the one in reports about state alchemists deaths. The man seeming more a wandering spirit, than a vengeful wraith.

I made a mental list of where everyone should be at the moment, and the progress they had made with the notes. Slowed by having to hide and move constantly, but they had a breakthrough recently and progress was sure to follow. Frankly, trying to recall all the elements on the periodic table was more interesting than having to listen to Kimblee as he babbled on at my side.

We made the rounds checking that each level of the fort was operating as best it could under the circumstance. I wished that he would go back to mumbling in the room he had claimed for his own, or even better go out to the wilderness to look for Scar and happen to fall off a cliff. But I would never be that lucky. I was starting to wonder if Kimblee was always at my side in the hopes that he could trip me up into revealing where his prey was. 

“Now major, don't you think it’s time we took a break for coffee, or maybe something more?” Kimblee put a hand on my hip, far too casual to be taken as anything other than a come on. Disgust filled me, leaching from his touch. Instinct was to punch the pale skinned man in the face, but I couldn't act so rashly. Kimblee was in close contact with the Fuhrer. The only reason I'd yet to push him off the roof, was because it could jeopardize the overall mission and safety of the people here. 

“No. There still need to be observations done to the next three levels, and I'd prefer it done before dinner.” I tried to step away from the man, but found his grip had turned to steel. I tensed readying for a fight. 

"You know you're prettier than most Ishvalan's. Pretty enough to be attractive, and I think you might even be close to Amestrian to grace my bed. Though we might have to keep those glasses on, red isn't your color." Did Kimblee actually think that was some sort of compliment. My skin crawled at the notion. I twisted out of Kimblee's grip before he could get his other arm around me and try to pin me to him. 

“That is a highly inappropriate suggestion, and I would ask you to stop that line of questioning.” my hand twitching to go for my gun. I was not going to stand here and listen to his babble and insults. If it came to it, I would shoot the man, and think of how to deal with any fallout later. 

“People are always so much more appetizing when angry. I'm getting twitter patted just thinking of having you under me, seething with rage as I pound into you.” Kimblee took a step forwards reaching a hand out to touch me. I bit my tongue to stop from gagging. “It's not like you have much of a choice. My word is as good as the Fuhrer's. I might not have the girl to parade around. But I wonder how many of your men would die if I told the Fuhrer that you were being uncooperative, and needed sloth to come back for a bit of persuasion.” That wouldn't be a risk if I shot this disgrace of a man before he had the chance to do anything.

He might only need to put his hands together to cause an explosion, but I'd been trained to aim with accuracy while a bear charged at me. I had enough certainty in my abilities to reach for my gun as I stepped away from him. 

“I don't take well to threats. You might be the Fuhrer's pet, but this is still my fort. The laws of survival have not changed. I suggest you go cool off before something regrettable happens.” I wondered at how many people Kimblee had already conned into his bed because of such threats, or snake oil soft words. 

“Oh, trust me once I'm done with you there won't be anything regretted. I'll have you begging for more.” Kimblee laughed, darting out to grab my hand. I saw motion behind the pale man and tried to silently signal to halt. I was either not understood or ignored as a chunk of wood came down on the back of Kimblee's head. The man crumpling to the ground, unmoving.

Scar loomed over him, seething. Fingers making impressions in the wood, and sparks coming off his right arm. I'd never seen any person so angry, and for a moment it was easy to mistake him for someone more like a rageful deity than a man. 

“We need him alive.” I said, stepping around the hopefully not corpse, to try and talk down Scar. My hands raised placatingly. 

“There is no place in this world for men like him.” Scar growled, the only sign that he was at all aware I was here. 

“I know. But he does us more harm dead than alive.” I reached out to take the chunk of wood from Scar. Surprised at how easily he gave it up. The larger man was trembling, and for as easy as it would have been to say it was from anger, I didn't think that was an accurate description of the look in his eyes. 

“Someone should have taught him that it's improper to touch unless given permission.” Scar rolled his shoulders, and looked away from the man on the floor. My lips quirked up at his remark, vastly in agreement with his thought. I knelt down next to Kimblee, taking off my glove so that I could feel if his breath puffed against the back of my hand, thankfully it did. Kimblee had not made empty threats, his death would bring more people from central. Possibly even another homunculus. 

“Well, I didn't expect you to be my knight in shining armor, but I am grateful. Almost enough to kiss you as a reward.” I joked as I went to the nearby phone on the wall. Making a call up to the infirmary, informing them of the newest patient that needed to be gathered. 

“What's stopping you?” Scar asked once I hung up the phone. I was surprised at the question, but also at the way he watched the wall instead of me. Stalking closer to him I was well in the bigger man's space as I leaned up. 

“Nothing I suppose.” Giving him ample time to step away before placing a peck on his cheek. Barely a graze of my lips, but Scar's cheeks took on a blazing blush anyways. The thought that it was a good look on his skin popped in my head, I brushed it away quickly. “Why are you here anyways? You should be down in the research level with the Xingese girl and the doctor.” Not that I wasn't thankful for his sudden appearance, but it was dangerous for them to move against the schedule. 

“The girl was very insistent that I give to this as soon as possible.” scar said, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket to hand to me. It was a note on how they had improved upon what they had found in the notes, and a rough outline of a plan for what to do about it. I put the note in my pocket and moved past the vermin taking up space on the floor. 

"well, since my schedule has cleared up significantly for the night, perhaps you could walk with me and explain this reverse circle in more detail?” I waved for Scar to follow me. The other floors didn’t need to be supervised, as they were primarily for habitation. It had only been a move to keep Kimblee out of the way, as the other central spies like to stick to the main offices as much as they could. Making them easier to predict and account for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As night falls so does our resolve, and wounds can become so much more apparent. Scar and Miles have a heart to heart about the importance of letting yourself hurt.

It was later in the night than I would have liked to be getting back to my quarters. But the new man that fancied himself in charge wouldn’t not stop asking about how Kimblee had been injured. Not liking the story of how a pipe had come loose from the ceiling. Thankfully Kimblee had minor amnesia when he woke, and couldn't remember most of the day. A blessing to all of us.

I wasn’t especially bother by the encounter with Kimblee. The man had put me off since I had heard his name the first time, and I was sure of the actions I would have taken had push come to shove. I'd been in more danger from the normal activities of working at the border, and so had been able to easily categorize the event and move passed it. I wouldn’t give Kimblee or his actions anymore thought then I had to. No need to waste the time or energy on anything he did.

Scar was already on his cot in the corner of the room, reading a book, as I entered my quarters. I locked the door behind me, more a precaution to late night intrusions, than any notion that the man couldn't simply destroy the wall if he so choose. It had been decided that having the group separate and sleep with certain people would be the best way to handle the night guards movements. I'd assigned Scar to myself because I was relatively sure I'd be the most able to defend myself, and I was also unwilling to put such a threat with any of my men.

“You're awfully quiet. I'd thought you’d be overjoyed at your little slight against Kimblee.” I said as I undressed and readied for the night. Scar was not an overly talkative man, but he seemed to take to me the best out of anyone. Often saying the most in the evenings. It was not so much conversational, as confessions one notion at a time.

“Perhaps if it had been some other day. For today I am not in the mood to think of him at all.” Scar mutters putting away his book, and rolled onto his side away from me. That was unusual on its own he hardly ever turned his back to anyone, a warriors need to protect himself. It could have been a sign of his trust that I wouldn't stab him while unguarded, or there was something he was trying to guard more than his back.

“Oh, and what makes today anything special?” I prodded. Not entirely sure why I didn't just let the subject drop when the other man clearly had no interest in continuing, worry, concern. One part of me wanted to say I had no use for such notions for Scar. He was still wanted by the state for his murders, and would face justice once this whole father debacle was settled. Scar was a necessary part of that solution and nothing more.

But a smaller part of me, steadily growing, could see the good in Scar that had been hidden under his vengeance. He cared for the Xingese girl, sought comfort in me like one does a brother, and he had saved me from an awful choice today. Something about how Scar acted then had been bothering me and it finally clicked, that hadn't been rage in his eyes earlier, it had been pain. Scar was quiet the whole time I finished getting ready to settle in for the night, apparently aiming to ignore my question. So, I flicked off the lights and went to my bed.

“It was… nothing. Never mind, there is no longer any importance to today.” Scar’s voice was as soft as the night, and I had to strain to hear him. But I could not miss the hurt in his voice, stilling as I drew back my sheets.

“Doesn't sound like much of nothing.” I said laying down. The statement open for him to continue, or to drop the subject. Yet I knew I would not get to sleep any time soon if he didn't speak. I'd always had a hard time sleeping when a problem was unresolved. Even as I child I'd stay up late making sure everything was as it should be, and the people I cared for were happy. It led to many sleepless nights during my service, as problems were not always so easy to resolve with a simple sorry.

“Why do you care?” Scar snarled, a defense to hide his hurt. He might put up a brave face against everyone, and be reluctant to give much of his thoughts to conversations, but scar was actually very bad at hiding how he really felt. Especially when you knew what to listen for.

“Because you are my brother, through Ishvala if nothing else.” I didn't think he would take kindly to an answer like he was my charge, which was true, or that I didn't like leaving people to wallow in their hurt, also true, but he’d always been receptive to comments about our shared blood. It didn't seem to bother him that I was only a fourth Ishvalan, so distanced from a full Ishvalan like him. Scar saw my skin, and my eyes, and decided that was enough. It was a sentiment few had, and the start of my respect for Scar.

“It would have been… It should have been,” Scar paused, the slightest hitch in his breath. I startled when I realized he was trying not to cry. “My mother's birthday.” I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, gasping for air. I had been distanced from any family I'd had in Ishval by the time the extermination order came. I'd had little more than my own reflection to be able to relate to by the time of the war. My parents having moved us out of Ishval by the time I was five. As such the war was almost something distanced from me. I hurt because it was cruel, not because I loved anyone there.

I had no words of comfort for the man on the other side of the room. How could I. He’d seen so much loss, so much death. He couldn't be that much older than I, and he’d experienced what I could never begin to grasp.

“I’m sorry.” The words felt useless and empty on my tongue. How could they hope to fill the void left by the loss of a mother? My own was still lively and well in the town below, willingly moving so she could be close to me. I visited her every free day I had. For Scar I had nothing more to offer than my sorrow and pointless condolences.

“It doesn't matter now. She’s been gone a long time, there is no use in crying about it now.” Scar cleared his throat, the sheets rustling as he shifted. I threw back my blanket and stood, carefully padding over to his cot. I couldn’t stay in my bed when Scar was drowning himself in suppressed pain.

“Can I?” I put my hand on the cot, adding enough weight to make my intensions clear. Unsure how well Scar could see me in the dark, or if he would want me to be close at all. Not knowing if touch would be seen as a comfort, or an intrusion in his moment of vulnerability.

“Please.” Scar's hand found mine, all but pulling me down into bed with him. It took a bit of shuffling for the both of us to fit, these cots not made for two grown men to share. With my arms around him and my chin on his head, despite him having a few inches on me, it was far more comfortable than staying in my own bed.

“It does matter. You ache for what you no longer have, and your pain is valid by virtue that you feel it.” I rubbed circles on his back. Trying to think of what my mother had said to comfort me, and how I might use her lesson to help now. “You called yourself puss once before, but that's just a sign that something needs to heal. My mother would often say that tears are the antiseptic of the heart, so how do you hope to heal if you do not let yourself cry?”

Being a woman deeply steeped in both her work as a doctor and a woman of faith, meant that the two intersected in odd ways. But it was often insightful advice that she gave. I could only hope that I could convey her sentiments as well as she might. Scar gripped my night shirt and started trembling. Barely there hitches of breath as tears soaked my shirt. I shushed and soothed as best I could while the other let go of years' worth of pain and loss.

I wondered if he had ever taken the time to stop and cry for his fallen family. If he’d ever managed to process all the horrors of war. Or if he just threw himself towards a path of vengeance to avoid the injuries on his heart. Ones that would crumble a weaker man.

“Thank you, my brother,” scar took a deep, shaky breath in the timeless space that was the night, his voice rough from his tears but somehow lighter.

“Of course. If we cannot be there for each other when we stumble, then who will be. If it is not too much to ask do you know how she died?” I asked. It might help him to discuss what he went through, but I didn't want to poke at any wounds that were too tender. I understood myself wholly underqualified for the discussions and help that Scar needed. But I didn't think I could get him to a therapist without a fight, and the possibility of blood spilled.

“We had gathered to make our escape out of Ishval, and hopefully to safety. My family and parts of others were all gathered before a house, like sheep waiting for a slaughter now that I can think of it. My brother had stalled. Wanting to fight back, the fool. He could barely face an angry cat, and he wanted to face alchemists.” Scar huffed sadly, flexing his right arm. I'd wondered about a man so set against alchemy, having an arm wrapped in its work, but didn't ask. From the small amount he had said about his brother's notes and his work, I didn't think it my place to question the tattoos on Scar.

“He sounds like a good man. Brave and willing to do what it took to protect what he loved.” I said. Resting my hand on Scar's back now that it seemed the worst of the storm of his emotions had passed.

“He was a better man than I could ever hope to be. That willingness was his downfall. I'd argued with brother, unwilling to leave him behind. I wanted him to come with us, to not fight. It didn't make much difference in the end the enemy found us. He killed everyone with one clap of his hands. Now that same walks these halls like a man of righteousness. I can’t,” Scar cuts himself off again. I swallowed thickly as the realization set in. The man that had killed his family was wondering these halls free and able to do whatever he wanted.

My hatred of Kimblee boiled under my skin, and I wished I had shot him earlier today. Scar was right, there was no place in this world for men like that, and certainly not so close where he could taunt his victims by his mere existence. I could not condone Scar's path of vengeance, but if I was forced to be in the same walls as the man that had killed my family that man would not be long for this world.

“Ishvala will see to his punishment; but you are right today is not a day to think of him. It is one to remember your mother. Remember the good, and praise who she had been in life. Would you tell me more about her?” I asked. Moving a hand up to comb through his hair, the longer portion on top leading to the shorter underlayer.

“She was beautiful, and the kindest person I had even known.” Scar started telling me story after story about the wonderful woman that had raised him. Something inside me shifted as I listen and learned. Scar was no longer just a charge of the state, someone to watch carefully and hand over for punishment when his usefulness ended.

Now scar was a brother, someone that had made his way close to my heart. I wondered if when the dust settled and there was no longer such a threat looming over us, if we could be more than brothers. If he could be someone to fill the gap in my heart where no one else would, because I was never enough of something for them. While scar did not ask for anything more than someone to listen to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wonder if Scar ever did get a chance to address the fact that all of his family died on like a minute or two, and what he went through was very traumatic. It's a miracle that he had as much of his sanity as he did. I know that it's largely implied that Scar eventually moved past his past, but that just not the same thing. I would have liked there to have been some moment the really deeply addressed the effects of war to the victim, and the healing that it takes to live afterwards. Anyways aside from my ranting I'm feeling that this challenge is going fairly well, and I love any of you that are reading. Don't hesitate to drop a comment or request.

**Author's Note:**

> If your liking these then drop a comment or thought, other then that there isn't much to say this time.


End file.
